


Shadower

by Bofur1



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Dwalin, Forgiveness, Gen, Getting in Trouble, Getting to Know Each Other, Major Character Injury, Mischief, Scared Bofur, Stalking, Thieving, Violence, Worried Nori, doctoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur and Nori get the feeling that Dwalin is following them everywhere. They don't know him very well yet, so this worries them. Then, much to their surprise, they find that their stalker is actually something of an advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [in_a_blog_in_the_ground](https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_a_blog_in_the_ground/gifts).



> This is based off a conversation "Blog" and I had. Enjoy! :)

“You’d better not be up to something.”

Nori yelped, whirling around to find Dwalin towering above him.

“No, Dwalin, I’m not!” the thief stammered, hiding his hands behind his back.

Dwalin simply crossed his arms with a disbelieving grunt.

“I...” Nori almost looked like he would choke on the word, “...promise!”

An eyebrow rose.

With a sigh, Nori revealed his hands. “Fine. Here you go, take ’em back.”

Dwalin’s silver eyes widened. Black leather gloves, well-worn but polished with care. With a growl, Dwalin yanked them away from Nori. When the gloves were safely in his pocket, Dwalin leaned in so his nose was nearly touching Nori’s.

“Next time, you’d better be sure Dori’s nearby to save you.”

Nori’s face contorted with indignant disgust. “I don’t need Dori savin’ me!”

“You will if you steal from Balin again,” Dwalin hissed.

As though on cue, Balin appeared. “Dwalin! What’re you doing with my gloves?” Balin asked in a scolding tone, snatching the gloves out of Dwalin’s pocket. “I was looking all over for them!”

Dwalin stared incredulously at his brother. “I was getting them back for you!”

Balin blinked in confusion. “Back for me?” he echoed as he slid the gloves onto his hands. “Back from whom?”

Dwalin turned to gesture to Nori, but the thief was gone. He growled again and muttered, “Never mind.”

=

“Did he catch ye?” Bofur gasped, clinging to the tree branch upon which he sat.

Nori nodded breathlessly. “Just like we thought. He was followin’ me!”

Bofur’s brows knit, darkening his eyes. “Hm. We’d best tread lightly fer a few days till he backs off.”

Nori shook his head with a laugh. “That’s not like you, Bofur.”

“Well, I don’t like it!” Bofur insisted. “I turn around an’ suddenly there he is, getting’ in m’ face askin’ if I’m up t’ somethin’!”

“That’s just how Dwalin is,” Nori assured him.

“He gives me chills all over,” Bofur said in a whisper. “When I see his shadow up behind me, m’ stomach freezes an’ I can’t even move. Then he grabs m’ shoulder, turns me ’round so he can glare at me. I see how suspicious an’ angry he is an’ I...I j-just can’t...”

Nori was silent for a moment.

 “Interesting. This is what did it.”

“Hm?”

“I’ve never seen you so afraid of another Dwarf since Bifur last attacked you,” Nori murmured.

A quiet whimper surfaced in Bofur’s throat. Ducking his head, he slid away from Nori toward the ground. Nori followed, but Bofur wouldn’t look at him for the rest of the night. Nori sat by the fire, his eyes flying between Bofur huddled in his bedroll and Dwalin calmly sharpening his weapons.

He had to do something.

=

“No, Bofur, he’s not coming,” Nori soothed before Bofur could ask. “It’s dark now and I don’t think he even knows about this niche here.”

Bofur nodded breathlessly.

“Alright, pal. I think that if you and I go over what scares you about Dwalin, you might be less afraid of him. You know, talkin’ about it.”

“He’s big an’ mean an’ he hates me,” Bofur listed promptly.

Nori blinked. “Um...alright then. Did that help at all?”

“No.”

Nori sighed and slumped against the rock wall at his back. “Well, it was a worthy strike. I just don’t know what to do for you.”

Bofur shrugged his lean shoulders. “I don’t know, either. Dwalin’s not goin’ t’ be shrinkin’ any time soon an’ I don’t know how t’ keep him from hatin’ me. I don’t even know _why_ he hates me!”

Nori nodded somberly. “There must be somethin’—duck!”

“Wha—?” Bofur had no time to finish his inquiry, as Nori tackled him to the ground. There was a sharp twang as a black arrow bounced against the rock where Bofur’s neck had previously been.

“Orcs!” Nori bellowed, catching the attention of the other Dwarves. Weapons flashed from their sheaths and battle cries filled the air.

Nori had no opportunity to grab his bladed-quarter staff, nor Bofur his mattock. Therefore Nori pulled his kukris knives and handed one to Bofur. Orcs targeted the pair, believing they were an easy kill because they were pinned against a boulder.

“Stop tensin’! You’re too jittery!” Nori hollered into Bofur’s ear. The miner was lashing out irrationally, stabbing at nearly anything that moved.

“B-Blame it on Dwalin!” Bofur cried, yelping in alarm as he slashed an Orc across the face.

A horrendously ugly Orc approached, wielding a long, jagged spear. With a roar, Nori lunged at him. Rolling away from Bofur, Nori and the Orc battled for reign over the spear, yanking and twisting and shouting in their respective Native Tongues. After wrenching the spear away from him, Nori condemned the Orc to violent death by knife through his eye socket.

Bofur’s heart was racing so fast his vision spun. He knew he needed to find his calm, but Nori’s knife was unfamiliar to his hand and he was clumsy with it. _I need m’ mattock!_ Bofur thought frantically, his gaze flickering to the mining pick that leaned against his pack not far away. He buried Nori’s knife in another foe’s stomach and then leapt over him.

Nori whirled and again saw something Bofur didn’t. An Orc was creeping down the boulder like a gigantic black spider toward him. Nori’s scream echoed in the clearing. “ _Bofur!_ ” It was then that Nori realized he’d made a mistake. Bofur’s attention had been drawn to him, putting his back to the Orc.

The ugly creature sprang, taking the miner to the ground. Bofur thrashed beneath the Orc’s weight. On the border of his vision, Bofur could see the handle of Nori’s knife, still in the belly of a fallen enemy. He stretched toward it, but the Orc’s fist slammed the soft part of his shoulder, locking his joints.

Desperately Bofur wrapped the fingers of his good hand into the Orc’s thick neck. Bofur twisted futilely, trying to snap it, but a sudden blinding agony in his rib area distracted him. His fingernails dug into the dirt crusted into the Orc’s skin—

Then his arm fell limply to the ground, having nothing to grasp. Bofur watched with wide eyes as the head of the Orc flew away into the trees, having been hammered right off.

Dwalin landed on the ground beside Bofur and began pushing the headless body off of him. “Are you alright?” he shouted.

Bofur felt relief as the pressure on him finally left. Then something twisted agonizingly inside him, causing him to cry out. Dwalin drew in a sharp breath as he saw the knife, thrust to the hilt into the miner’s body.

“Mahal!” Nori cursed as he shoved Dwalin out of his way. “Mahal, Mahal, _Mahal!_ ”

Bofur panted, his breaths rapid and shallow. “I—I can’t breathe,” he choked out.

“Well, that’s understandable,” Nori agreed with a tense laugh. “You’ve got a knife stickin’ in your gut.”

“N-Nori.” Bofur’s eyes were glazed with pain.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just be quiet and we’ll get you outta this mess,” Nori promised hastily, reaching out to pat his friend’s shoulder. His hand paused when he felt the slight tremors beneath the fabric of Bofur’s shirt. “You’re shakin’, pal,” Nori remarked, trying desperately not to let his fear ring in his tone.

“Cold an’ dark here,” Bofur murmured. “I’m tired. I want t’ go home.”

“Hey, now, don’t talk like that,” Nori scolded anxiously, glancing over his shoulder at the last remnants of violence. “It’s—it’s my fault you’re like this. Bad idea of mine, shoutin’ to you like that. So, um, sorry.” His fingers tightened around Bofur’s shoulder in a comforting squeeze.

Bofur shook his head slowly, blinking sluggishly. “S’not yer fault. Tried t’ get m’ mattock...” He gave a wet cough that caused Nori to cringe. “S’not your fault,” he repeated softly.

Bifur apparently thought otherwise. As Óin quickly approached to examine the wound, Bifur hauled Nori upright, ready to give him the tirade of his life. However, a large hand landed on Bifur’s shoulder just as he drew in breath.

“No,” Dwalin said quietly. “It wasn’t Nori. There was no way to stop it.”

Bifur released his breath in a furious hiss. He gave Nori a neck-wrenching shake and then as he turned to leave he belted him solidly upside the head. Nori growled and doubled his fists as the eldest miner stalked away, but Dwalin stepped in front of him.

“You’d best get off while you’re ahead. Angry and worried as he is, Bifur could probably trounce you twice and thrice.”

Nori glared at Dwalin as he cracked his neck. “You’re one to talk! We wouldn’t have been in that bad spot if it hadn’t been for you. You terrify Bofur like nothin’ else; he dragged me over there to _hide_ from you. So basically—” Nori jabbed a finger in Dwalin’s face. “—it’s your fault!”

He left Dwalin looking stricken and helpless in the middle of the camp.

=

Bofur almost thought he heard a fiddle playing. Unable to retain his curiosity, he forced his eyes to open and knew his musician’s instinct had been correct. A melancholy tune was playing by his bedside. Wait...

“I’m in a bed?” he asked aloud, his voice hoarse. The fiddle squeaked as the player startled.

“Oh, thank Mahal! You’re awake!” a voice exclaimed.

“Have I been sleepin’?” Bofur muttered, mostly to himself. He tried to sit up, but a sudden ache in his middle stopped him. Quietly whimpering in discomfort, he fell back against, to his surprise, a soft, downy pillow. “Hm. This’s nice.”

“Yeh, you’ve been sleeping,” the voice answered his previous question. “You were wounded in our battle against the Orcs. Do you remember?”

All at once Bofur did remember. “...How many days?”

“About three. Óin thought you were getting an infection, but he managed to catch it before it got bad. Must say, you’ve missed a lot. We’re in the house of a skin-changer.”

“So they do exist,” Bofur mused quietly. Blinking in the sunlight that streamed through the window, he turned to see who his companion was and immediately stiffened. What was Dwalin doing with him? He voiced that question, his tone tense and apprehensive.

Dwalin sobered. “Oh. Ah, Nori said it was kinda my fault you got injured. So I stayed here with you.”

“Why would it be yer fault?” Bofur asked, his eyes darting nervously toward Dwalin’s giant shadow that crept up the wall.

“Because...you were hiding from me.”

Bofur drew in a sharp breath. “He told ye?”

Dwalin nodded slowly. “Furious, he was. Hissing like a snake.” He laid aside his fiddle and folded his hands. “Uh...Bofur. Why—?”

“Why am I afraid o’ ye,” Bofur finished, more as a statement than a question. “I guess since it’s come out, I better tell: ye’re big an’ mean an’ ye hate me.”

“No, I don’t!” Dwalin burst out. His fierce tone caused Bofur to cringe further into the pillow. Awkwardly Dwalin tried to explain himself in a kinder voice. “Really, Bofur, I don’t hate you. I just...want you and Nori to keep out of trouble. The things you do, the thieving and practical jokes, they can get you and others in trouble.”

Bofur narrowed his eyes speculatively at Dwalin. “So ye’re actually...worried fer us?”

Dwalin sighed. “Well, there have been times when I’ve been mad at you, but I don’t hate you. Really.”

Grunting in pained discomfort, Bofur forced himself upright. “Right then. If that’s the truth, ye’d better convince me,” he said suspiciously. “If ye can find some ways to show it, I might believe that ye’re actually concerned.”

Dwalin rose to his feet and put his hand at the back of Bofur’s neck. Carefully he touched their foreheads together and announced gravely, “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. Please forgive me.”

Bofur sat frozen for a moment or two before slipping his own hand up to rest on Dwalin’s skin—a sign of returned acceptance, of forgiveness, of something _almost_ near brotherhood.

“I...I guess that’s a good start.”

 


End file.
